They say he went mad, in the end
by arabellagaleotti
Summary: Hermione Granger is dead. And Alecto Carrow killed her. Draco Malfoy is avenging none other than Hermione Granger, the only person who treated him like a human being after the war. May he find peace in Alecto's death? Sounds terribly OC, but it's not!
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

They say he went mad, in the end.

He did. In a way.

Being forced into a war you don't belive in and then being shunned by scioety because of said war isn't exactly healthy.

It all stopped, the crashing, churning inside his head, when she looked at him. They were nothing, small gestures she extended to everyone in her path. But that's what made them so special, she acted like he was normal, another face, passing by.

An almost-friendly smile as she passed. Or a nod as she disappeared into the flames of the floo. That time she gave him an extra coffee that she had gotten for an absentee workmate. When he first came to work at the ministry, she shook his hand. Just like that, like it wasn't repulsive to most people, to touch the hand of a death-eater.

It was enough, those simple gestures. To remind him he was still human, had a future without what he had done hanging over him. She was kind, kinder than the ones who pointed and sneered, whispered about him. No, even after all the things he had done to her, at school, in the war, she still smiled. She shook his hand and engaged in short, awkward, yet mutually understanding conversation.

And then she was gone. Just like that.

One, single, hateful, old-fashioned, prejudiced person, and she was gone.

They say she got jumped outside her home. She wasn't killed with a Avada Kevada, no, that would be quick, easy, painless. This was brutal. This was savage. This was inhumane. This was undeserving.

They stabbed her, clubbed her on the head, so she was alone. Dying in that alley with nothing but gray sky and the dirty, blood-stained, London puddles to look at. How she must have felt, what she must have been thinking.

He hates them, if he even gets a whiff of who did it, he'll do the same, but longer. Harder. That's what they deserve, a long, lasting death and then forever in hell. He will meet them there, eventually - but until then, he'll try to hunt them down, give them the death they've rightfully earned.

It's not until he delves his search into the pure-blood circles that he finds her. It takes months, attending party after party and restoring the Malfoy name. He's lucky, he's got an easy, charming manner, if you just look past his broken eyes. People are quick to accept his kind of money. So they did.

And he listens and asks and eventually, eventually, finds out:

Alecto Carrow.

 _Alecto Carrow._

That's her name, the woman who killed the only living person that treated him like might have a heart.

He relishes her screams, he really does. Some might say that it's sick, to enjoy the pain of others. He doesn't, some people's pain is deserved, he reminds himself. And she's definitely deserved it.

He makes her beg for forgiveness, and then as soon as she does, he makes her beg more. He makes her apologise until she can't get the words out. But it still doesn't quench the anger, the rage. It's only when she's a broken, shivering, whimpering mess that he comes to a solution. It's ironically on the floor of his Drawing Room, he thinks that's a nice touch.

She will die in the same way she did.

"Alecto," he calls in a haunting, singing voice, "Guess what?" He steps closer, sitting back on his haunches. She only cries some more, then her whimpers turn to growls, and she jerks upwards, biting and clawing at him. He sent her backwards with a swift kick to the chest. She screams out in pain. he comes to stand over her, sending a well-directed boot into her ribs.

"Oh, Alecto, I was gonna let you die quickly," he lies, voice almost-sad, she only sobs harder.

"Plea…" He cocks his head, "please...please.." she manages to whisper.

"Oh, Alecto. You certainly shouldn't be saying that to me, and God won't hear you. Not after what you've done." He admires the coldness, hardness in his voice. He almost sounds like his father…. _No._ he's not his father. He's not. He pushes those thoughts away, focusing on his prey. His father was cruel and violent without sense. He has a reason, this isn't because of prejudice or hate...well, not hate from blood.

She really is a mess. Her dull hair is encrusted and caked in blood, it's pulled back from her face in a weak hairband seconds away from snapping. One eye is big and puffed up, swollen closed and coloured a dark, prune purple. The other is crusty and stained with dried blood from a cut from her eyebrow. She also has a cut to her forehead that dribbles blood down one side of her face. He's pretty sure her nose is broken, bruised and crooked. Her lip is also split, and a few of her teeth broken and bleeding inside her mouth, staining her teeth a gruesome red.

That's not the worst.

He mangled her finger on both hands. using a rare, little-known spell that mimed the actions of a crushing hydraulic press did the job well, he found it quite effective. After that he obliterated her knees with sledgehammers to the kneecaps, that had been an very enjoyable hour. Another spell tore off her fingernails in the most painful, drawn-out way possible.

"Alecto, Alecto," he pauses, circling around her like a shark, "You do know why you're here, don't you?"

"I...I...killed that... mudblood bitch," she spits, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth.

A sudden flame of pure, violent, unthinking anger and rage seizes him. The rational part of his brain takes a backseat, his emotions driving. His rage, more specifically.

This isn't going to end well, for her.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The next thing he knows Alecto is barely capable of speaking. She's far worse off than she had been - he checks the clock - 2 hours ago.

He frowns, what would be the point if she died like this? He shakes his head, stepping around a smear of blood towards the witch, curled up in the fetal position.

"Well, I guess I'll have to heal you," he sighs remorsefully. No matter what he wanted to do to her, reparations were due, and Hermione Granger's death needs to be avenged.

The avenging angel. That was a fitting name. It speaks of justice, a hard, cold blade that only cut those deserving. Judge, jury, and _executioner._ He savours the words in his mind.

He'd had his power taken away before, when his father forced him into the Death-Eaters, and repeated every time that bastard of a leader gave him an order. He was taking his power back, taking it back and exterminating vermin while he was at it.

Win, win. RIght?

XxXxXx

An hour or so later the floor is shiny and clean again, not even a trace of blood maring the stone. A singular white hospital bed is set up against the wall. Alecto connected to several beeping machines.

He stitched her up the best he could, and applied bruise paste to almost all her body. Both her arms are wrapped in bandages, the white gauze weeping red by her hands. He fixed her knees with magic, although she would certainly never run again.

He observes her unemotionally, "Alecto, I'll give you a night to rest, to mourn."

She moans again, "wh...whoo..." The voice stumbles out from her tongue brokenly.

He leans over her, eyes glinting with maniacal light, "you," he whispers. She balks weakly, a tear sliding down her face.

"Now, now, Alecto," he relishes that name, he really does, "don't cry, you've had it coming for a long time now." He reaches for a glass of water on the bedside table, holding it to her mouth, she drinks, parched throat accepting water eagerly.

"Start thinking of last words," he advises, setting the water down with a plunk.

He whirls around, about to walk out the room. She calls him back, voice stronger now she's well-watered.

"Yes, Alecto?" he says civilly, crossing his hands in front of him.

"Why do yo..you care?" she questions, puffed-up eyes glaring at him reproachfully.

He takes a moment to respond, "Hermione Granger didn't deserve to die. Her blood was as pure as mine. And you killed her, the only person that treated me like a human being. So, i'm gonna make you pay." He asks his own question. "Why'd you kill her?" he whispers, eyes pale and glittering.

She doesn't answer, just sags into her pillows and turns her ugly face away from him, as he strides out of the room.

XxXxXX

He's in the parlour, idly flicking through a newspaper when the floo flames. He looks up. It's Pansy, she steps out of the grate, brushing ash off her perfectly ironed clothes. Pansy may have been a school friend during his Hogwarts days, but they are long gone now.

"Draco." she greets stiffly, bob of black hair swinging around her pointed face.

"Pansy," he greets back, equally stiff.

"I've come to discuss a matter of great importance." she confindes, perching on the couch next to him.

He raises his eyebrows, still leafing through the newspaper, "and that would be?"

"The Malfoy Ball, of course. It's coming up and since Narissa isn't here to handle the proceedings like she usually does, I've come to help."

The Malfoy ball was, naturally, a ball that Narcissa held every winter. It was one of the pure-blood events of the year, and marked a date in everyone's calendars.

"What makes you think I'm holding a Malfoy Ball?" he asks, finally looking up from his paper, Pansy's pinched expression is both fury and shock. He doesn't know why she's so surprised, it's not exactly his thing.

"Of course you're holding a Malfoy Ball! Why on god's green earth wouldn't you, now that you're rejoining the circles?"

That was just to find Alecto. Now that's out of the way, he can finally get away from the poison that call themselves pure-blood high society.

"Because I don't want to hold one, Pansy. Anyway, I'm regretting my decision to join again."

"why are you regretting it? It's your legacy, your childhood, it's how you were raised, for Merlin's sake!" She screeches, steely voice rising in pitch.

He stands up, she mirrors his actions, her sharp frame hunched in alarm.

"And my childhood wasn't all that great, you know, forced into the death-eaters at 16 and all!" he roars, losing his temper. "Not everything was flowers and glitter while you were away at Hogwarts, While you were sitting in classes, I was fighting a war," he hisses, tossing a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, "Goodbye, Pansy. Don't come again."

She growls in frustration. "You're practically becoming a Greengrass, Draco." She calls out her home address and disappears into in the green flames, only leaving him with one last scowl and the feel of her dissaproval.

He sighs, maybe he _was_ becoming a Greengrass. Ashby and Cordelia Greengrass were esteemed members of pure-blood society and the Sacred Twenty Eight. Just before the First Wizarding War, the pair married quicky and without any warning, fleeing the circles. It was a disgrace, and the scandal lasted long into the war. No-one ever found the couple and eventually the name died down.

It reawakened when Daphne Greengrass inducted into Hogwarts as a First Year, the same year as him. And later when the younger sister came to Hogwarts, what was her name? Something starting with A… Abbey, Abigail, Adeline, Adele? Nevermind.

Anyway, the point is, I need to retreat, now. I'll come up with a cover story, something easy enough but not obvious. Psychotic break? No, too hard to keep up. Bankrupt? No, no, the Malfoy vaults stretch too deep for that to be believed. Move to France? Yes, that will do nicely, there are too many memories here anyway.

To France I go, he thinks victoriously. _To France I go._


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The next morning is a rainy day. Fitting, he supposes - It had been rainy when Hermione died.

He strolls into the drawing room, dressed in the coat she had once complimented. He can hear the ghostly echo of her words, _'Nice coat, Draco,'_ paired with a small smile and an embarrassed eye flick downwards.

He shakes away the memories. There's work to be done. "Alecto…?" he calls, eyes lighting up. "It's time, I hope you've memorised your words, it wouldn't do to forget them, would it now?" He approaches the hospital bed. The sheets are rumpled, and a pillow has fallen to the floor. The bed is empty.

She's escaped. He thought her to be in too bad a condition, seems he had been wrong.

He tutts his tongue, thinking carefully. "Zeeny!" he calls. A house-elf apparatus into the room with a crack.

"Master called for Zeeny?" she squeaks, fingers playing with the edge of her bed-sheet toga.

"I need you to find someone, get all the House-Elfs on it, search outside and board up the floo, now!" he orders.

"Yes, Master, right away Master. If Zeeny may ask, who is this person?"

"Alecto Carrow. Go!" the house-elf spins away. He would find her, he vows. And she will pay.

He strolls through the abandoned wing of the manor with careful steps.

This used to be his parent's wing, after his father died in Azkaban Mother followed soon after.

It was the grief, the doctors diagnosed. He never thought his parents loved each other. As he got older it got clearer that his parent's marriage was only a business arrangement to restore the Black name after Andromeda left to marry that muggle. But, after seeing his Mother's health deteriorate, it was clear she did love the cold man, or at least some part of her did.

After their deaths he had boarded up the entire wing. Now a thick coat of dust covers everything and the scurrying of mice in the walls is loud.

He comes to a pause outside his parent's bedroom. The door is ajar, and a quiet sobbing emits from within.

Too easy, Alecto. You've gone slack.

He pushes open the door, stepping inside with only a creak of the hinges and the click of his shoes on the wooden floor. The crying stops, a sharp intake of breath marking her realization that she's been found. He can imagine the sheer terror she's feeling right now.

Good.

He shakes his head, taking on a casual, predatory stance. "Brave of you, that was. I'm sure you have a lot of nerve, to kill someone like Hermione Granger. How'd you do it, by the way? I mean, a witch like Granger wouldn't let you just saunter up to her and club her on the head. No," He peers around the space. A pair of staggering footprints led into the bathroom, marked by the smear of dust and blood. He raises his voice slightly, letting the acoustics do the work for him. "You must of done a dirty shot, snuck up behind her, did you?" He waits hearing a sniffle.

In a sudden movement, he shoves open the door to see Alecto, slumped against the tiled wall of the bathroom. The stitches on her eyebrow have come undone, blood runs down one side of her face.

She moans pitifully, and he laughs cruelly. "Have you practised your last words?" he asks, bending down next to her.

"Blood traitor," she spits, a slobbery ball of spit sailing past and landing with a splat on the floor next to him.

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, Alecto, you could have at least hit me." He stands up again, bored of the conversation.

He steps out of the bathroom closing the door, and sending a comical 'Shh' motion her way.

Once in the main bedroom, "Zeeny!" he calls, she pops into existence before him.

"Yes Master?" she asks eagerly.

"I need you to call off the search, also fetch the item in the trunk under my bed. Go." he instructed.

"Yes Master, Zeeny will do that right away." Once the house-elf is gone he steps back into the bathroom, she's dragged herself forward in his absence, and now a smear of red-blood decorates the bathroom floor.

"Great," he sneers, tone clipped. "I'll have to get that cleaned now."

" Bastard," she manages.

He ignores her latest comment, "Come on, Alecto." he says hoisting her up, slinging one of her arms around his shoulders. "Let's visit that alleyway."

XxXxXx

A few minutes later they're in the alley behind Hermione's former flat. There's still a few wilting flowers and soggy cards left as a memorial. He dumps her down onto the gritty concrete, she groans pitfully, and he grins.

"So, this is the end." He whispers fatefully, holding the weapon in his hand with well-practised ease. "Any last words, apart from 'blood traitor'?" he smirks.

"Long...live the Dark Lord…" she croaks, eyes dark and defeated.

"Voldy's dead. Has been for nearly a year. Bit late, isn't it?"

She just snarls at him, hair messy around her pale, pallid face.

"I wasn't able to get the weapon you used, but this will do." He says, bending down to pick up the long, silver antique sword from the Malfoy vaults. The stormy light reflects off the metal rather romantically and the green emeralds gleam in well-polished perfection at the base of the handle.

"Bye, Alecto." He says simply, unceremoniously.

And in one smooth, precise motion he slides the sword though her gut, pinning her like a kebab. Her hands go to where the sword juts out of her, trying to hold in the bloodstain that spreads from her hands.

Blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth sluggishly, and she takes one last gurgling breath. She tries to say something, but the blood in her lungs steals the words before they leave her mouth.

Her head finally falls backwards, body slumping and limbs going lifeless and slack. Her eyes are as glassy and lifeless as a dead fish.

He stands there, watching for a few minutes with the wilted, colourless flowers at his feet and a churning sky above him. It's rather satisfying, months of rage and sadness all cutimating into this one final product: Alecto Carrows dead body at his feet. He feels...strange, without purpose, almost sad that it's finally over. Almost happy it is.

Shaking off his thoughts for later, He reaches forward, pulling the sword from the Death-Eater. he flicks the blade so that the residual blood splatters onto the ground.

With one final look at her pale skin and blue lips and the bloodstain spreading like a sun around her, he turns on the spot, spinning away and leaving any doubts behind.

XxXxXx

The next day at work, he walks down a nameless, drab, grey corridor. His black coat, the one that Hermione complemented once, swirls around his feet like the crashing white-water of the sea on a stormy night.

He would stay for a few weeks, not to alert any suspicions. Keep his head down, live normal life. Then, once it was all in the clear, he would escape to the white, blissful beaches of Monaco. He sighs even thinking about it.

As he turns down the hallway to his office -plain and empty, with only a long-dead plant and a pile of work to be done - he passes _her_ office.

It's been empty since she died. The old flowers that used to be taped to the door are gone. He steps forward, peering inside the office, just to see them in the wastebasket.

"Hi." he looks up, surprised at the interruption. It wasn't often someone snuck up on him. It's a nervous-looking girl with dark, straight, earth-brown hair and painted red lips. She's wearing a red pencil skirt and white, tucked-in blouse. Office wear, a new coworker, perhaps?

"Hi." he smiles back, eyes guarded and wary.

"Sorry if scared you, I know this used to be Hermione Granger's office." she gestures at the cardboard box on the desk. "I'm just moving in." He nods, relaxing a little. She smooths down the front of her skirt in a nervous gesture, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear next.

She crosses the room, "Actually, did you hear the news?"

"No, what happened?" He says, knowing full well what happened. She tosses a folded-up newspaper at him.

"They found Alecto Carrow dead outside Hermione Granger's apartment, stabbed to death. The Aurors think she killed her." She summarises. "Alecto was a death-eater, she sounds quite nasty actually," she adds, grimacing.

He laughs, "oh, she was. Had the unpleasant habit of killing random muggles, that and she liked to play with her food." he looks down the column, speed-reading.

"What? How did you know her?" The woman asks, forehead creasing. He looks up from the Daily Prophet.

He extends a hand for her to shake, smiling as charmingly as he can. "Draco Malfoy, at your service." he fears her response more than he would like to admit.

"Oh," she breathes out, eyes flicking to his forearm. He draws back, about to retreat, but then she clears her throat, sticking her hand out in return.

"Astoria Greengrass." She introduces.

He stares at her suspiciously, seeing no malice in her face, he shook her hand back, grinning widely. "Nice to meet you, Astoria Greengrass."

Maybe he wouldn't be moving to France after all.


End file.
